


Everything's Different, Nothing's Changed

by usuallysunny



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-28 14:07:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17184425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usuallysunny/pseuds/usuallysunny
Summary: Mac finds his pride, but Dennis can't let go.





	Everything's Different, Nothing's Changed

"You don't _get it_ , Dennis." Frank enthuses. His eyes are lit up in a way none of the Gang have ever seen before and he gestures wildly with his hands. "It was  _beautiful_."

Charlie and Dee look inquisitive, pensive, and the only noise in the bar comes from Dee tapping her week old manicure on the counter's chipped wood.

It drives Dennis mad, echoing in his ears and stoking his anger.

"No, I  _don't_ get it, Frank." He practically snarls through gritted teeth. "I don't get how a wet Mac prancing around with some equally wet bitch in-front of a shitload of prisoners is considered  _beautiful_ these days. It's stupid, it's moronic, it's  _mindless_ and Dee, will you  _stop_ tapping your goddamn nails!"

They all jump, falling into silence.

"Jesus, Dennis..." She breathes after a beat, eyes wide. "What crawled up your ass?"

Dennis just stares at them and a muscle near his left ear ticks as he clenches his jaw. The air feels thick with the weight of everything he can't bring himself to say.

"I know we like to rip into each other and do terrible things and that's all a good time..." Charlie begins, his voice characteristically high pitched and lined with confusion, "...but maybe we should, like,  _be there_  for Mac now. He's finally embraced who he is and that must've been pretty tough, right?"

"I'm sorry, Charlie..." Dennis begins, expression hard and indignant as his voice voice drips with sarcasm, "Do  _you_  need to come out of the closet, or...?"

"Ha ha, feelings are so gay." Charlie rolls his eyes. "Grow up, Dennis."

"Yeah, it's 2018." Frank chimes in, head patronisingly tipped to the side. "You need to get with the times, son. That's just how I feel."

Dennis scoffs in disbelief, his widened eyes flitting between the three of them. He can't make sense of what they're saying - which is strange, considering his almost superhuman intellect - and the bits he can make sense of don't sit right with him. All of them - even  _Frank_ , the most depraved and gross of them all - have been moved by  _Mac?_ They want to help and support  _Mac_?

Bullshit.

Dennis  _owns_ Mac. Everything that man does, he does for him. Not for Frank, not for Charlie or Dee, not for his Dad and most certainly not for  _himself._

 _Finding his pride,_ Dennis scoffs at the idea.

The only thing Mac should ever be trying to find is him. That's the way it's always been. Even separated with one in North Dakota and one in Philly, they had been drawn back together like black magnets.

This isn't the Gang he came back for.

The plan, horrible even by his standards, comes to him like a lightning spark. The corners of his lips twitch into a devious smile as the Gang's mindless chattering becomes white noise in the background. He's retreated into his head, sinking further into madness, losing his grip on the reality he's been so careful to cultivate. His insatiable need to control everything thrums through his blood. He'll get Mac back in his box, squash him down and claim him the way he always has.

But the truth is, Dennis has never felt more out of control.

 

 

 

If Mac's honest with himself, whenever he visualises any great success, it's always Dennis' face he sees.

His stunned appreciation as he watches with unmistakable pride and regret that he'd ruined things between them. The vision of him standing at the back of the prison after the performance, half cloaked in darkness with tears running down his cheeks, is a particular favourite of his.

He wants to triumph over him, childish as that may be.

Dennis has ruled him for most of his adult life - his cold and cruel best friend, looming over him like a bad dream, a dark shadow.

Back when he was still in North Dakota, Mac would fantasise about Dennis' return. Usually, when lying in bed late at night, he sometimes indulged in a small daydream that when he breezed into Paddy's, he would be amazed by Mac's strength, his success, the transformation he had undergone.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Dennis looking at him, ashen faced and reverent.

Mac thinks, when Dennis dies, he'll be the one to chisel his gravestone. He will write: _here lies Dennis Reynolds, beloved son, brother and evil mind fucker._ He wonders if all those words will fit. If they won't do it, he'll carve them himself with his bare hands.

He thinks of himself sitting cross legged, drinking a beer in-front of the grave, exhausted from chiselling. The picture is strangely satisfying.

That's how Mac has always thought of Dennis: an evil mind fucker. His own personal black demon. It's like everything he does is calculated to disconcert, to test, to exert control. In his dreams, it unnerves him to always see his black presence out of the corner of his eye, like a blur, like when eyelashes stick together. In them, Dennis is always walking slightly behind him, not touching him, easily stepping over looming holes that Mac slips down every time.

He's so tired of being his lapdog, tired of watching with a tired heart and mind as he stumbles through the door at 4am, smelling of cheap booze and Chanel No. 5. Tired of helping him to bed, desperate for any scraps of attention and relishing in the drunken way he'd sometimes sigh and entwine his fingers with his.

He'd tried to fuck Charlie once. He was so malleable, so easy to sway and convince. But his fingers had traced over a jaw too doughy, too covered in stubble. He wanted strong and sharp edges, smooth from meticulously shaving every day. Charlie's hands had been too grubby, too calloused... not beautifully soft and clean as a result of obsessive washing. Mid-make out, Mac's neck had begun to hurt from leaning down, his muscles yearning for someone around the same height. And when he ran his fingers through Charlie's hair, he found straight strands rather than curls he'd dreamt about since he was sixteen.

Charlie had just held him while he cried, breaking down in his arms. He'd hushed him, seen straight through him, understood far more than a person as stupid as Charlie should. He told him it was okay and maybe that's all Mac had ever wanted - for someone to say that things would be alright, that he was enough.

But even so, as Charlie comforted him, clumsily patting his head too hard, Mac yearned for cruelty - for sarcastic insults to be hurled at him like bullets from a gun.

His desperation for kindness, for softness, has long been burned out of him.

None of his fantasies had ever ended like this... sitting on his worn sofa, foot tapping impatiently, anger bubbling in the pit of his stomach. Sure, his visits with his Dad always left him feeling a little hollow inside. But he thought they were getting somewhere, thought his life-affirming dance had chipped away at that cold exterior just a little bit more.

Until today.

_"Your friend paid me a visit." He had said, voice characteristically hard and cruel through the receiver._

_Mac's stomach had dropped. "Which friend?"_

_"Dennis." His father answered quickly, smoothly, a smile that turned Mac's stomach pulling at his mouth. "To be honest, I thought he was your boyfriend or some shit. You two have always been freakishly close."_

_"What did he say?" Mac asked, though he didn't want to know._

_"He just made me see the truth of things." Luther shrugged, eyes darkening. "He reminded me how disgusting all you fags are. How you've always been a disappointment to me and this is the final straw. Most of all?" He paused for a moment and Mac held his breath, as if he knew what he was going to say next would destroy him. "He reminded me how you're no son of mine. Never contact me again. You're dead to me."_

_Then he put the phone down and he was gone, taking the pieces of Mac's shattered heart with him._

The turn of the lock as the door opens brings Mac hurtling back to reality.

Dennis is whistling a tune as he walks in, casually throwing his keys in his hand only to catch them. He closes the door behind him and pauses at the sight of him.

Mac lifts his eyes to Dennis' face and the impact is as strong as a blow to the gut. His sheer, otherworldly beauty is astounding. He had almost hoped he'd become immune, before he left again for North Dakota.

Now, as always when he sees him after a separation, he gapes at him, dimly aware that his breath is shallow in his chest.

Dennis' expression is a strange, dark smirk and his mouth is twisted, as if partway through a sarcastic observation.

Mac stands, like a prisoner approaching the firing squad. There will be a scene, that much he's sure of. In the back of his mind, he hopes the neighbours are out.

"What?" Dennis is, of course, the one to break the silence.

The worst thing about having a best friend like him is that he's always simultaneously been Mac's worst enemy. He manipulates every situation into one that garners him his desired result, and he knows from Mac's confused, resistant mind that he finds him beautiful, has always been bewildered by his body's response to him. He's always used it as leverage.

But now, Mac just stares at him. All signs of mischief are gone from his face.

Dennis doesn't like it. He doesn't like him looking at him with no awe-inspired reverence, no humour or affection or that four-letter emotion he won't name.

"How could you do this to me?" Mac's voice is barely above a whisper and his brows draw into a frown.

Dennis just laughs - a short exhale with no humour in it - and he doesn't see the point in feigning ignorance. 

"It was just a joke, dude."

"A joke?" Mac's practically seething, disbelief shining behind his dark eyes. "This is my  _life_."

Dennis shrugs, blood turned to ice. His walls are constructed high around him, impenetrable.

"You're overreacting."

"How could you have known me for my entire life and still not know one thing about me?" Mac asks, the air hanging in a thick, unwelcoming cloud around them. 

"Look, your dad's an asshole. You're better off without him anyway."

It's silent for a beat.

"You don't even see what you do, do you?" Mac asks eventually, voice lined with disbelief. He takes a step back, like Dennis' very presence has burned him.

Dennis just rolls his eyes, moving over to the fridge to grab a beer. He flicks the top off easily and takes a sip. When he looks back at him, Mac swears his eyes are a darker shade of blue.

"You've been trying to get Luther's attention for your entire life and you get fucked over every time. Now you can let it go. You should be thanking me, really." He tips the Coors bottle to him slightly, quirking his eyebrow along with it.

"Don't you dare pretend you did this for me." Mac shakes his head. "Like everything in our lives, this was all about you. You just couldn't stand me actually making something of myself. You can't stand losing control. It's why you never gave me his letters, ruined any chance I had at a relationship with him  _again._ You did the same thing to Dee, back when you thought she was going to be some hot-shit comedian. You ruined that, too. You can't stand the idea of us not being yours and leaving you behind."

"Being  _mine_?" Dennis' voice is characteristically cruel. "You're sick, dude. That's my sister and I'm not gay."

Mac sees straight through him. "Yeah, you're not gay. You're not straight either. You're a  _sociopath_. All you care about is control and you're terrified of being alone. So you push people away before they can leave you first. You think you're some sort of God - and maybe for a while I did too - but you're just an appetite, Dennis."

Dennis' expression blackens dangerously but he remains obstinately still. He scowls at him and his hands curl into fists at his side.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

Mac pauses for a moment, the words on the tip of his tongue, before he thinks  _fuck it._ What does he have to lose? Dennis has taken everything - stolen every part of him over three decades - and there's simply nothing left.

"I love you." He says, strong and clear, and he's not scared any more. "I'm in love with you. I always have been."

Dennis' jaw ticks and his eyes seem to flash. The air feels heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid and then - he snaps.

"Goddamn it, Mac!" He seethes through gritted teeth, the  _bang_ as he slams the beer bottle down on the table punctuating the heady silence. "Just - shut up. Shut  _up._ "

Mac just smiles - but there's no humour in it. He takes a step back, walking towards the door.

"You take  _everything_..." He says slowly, letting the words hang in the air, "...and I'm empty."

Dennis' rage spikes, his vision clouding.He doesn't understand why things can't just go back to the way things were, why those three words have to change everything. Mac's hand goes to the door handle and the click as he turns it is deafening.

In some ways, this encounter is more enlightening than the dance. Because really, who has ever known him more than Dennis? Who has ever had him more under their thumb?

He sees now that it's not his father he has to let go; it's him. He told Luther something new was going to be born and maybe this is it. Maybe he didn't have to find his pride, he had to find his strength _-_ the strength to extract Dennis from his skin, from his blood, to go and find himself in the absence of the one who's always defined him. 

It doesn't matter how strong he gets - inside and out - Dennis will always be his greatest weakness. 

"Mac." Dennis' mouth opens without his permission, calling him back. "Will you just..." He trips over the words, his fingernails digging so hard into his palms he's surprised he doesn't draw blood. 

"Just what?" 

He scowls at him. "You're pushing your luck."

Mac raises his eyebrows at Dennis' flash of temper. "I'm not pushing anything. I don't want anything from you. I'm done."

"Oh,  _you're_ done?" Dennis repeats, eyes wide and almost manic, voice dripping with sarcasm. " _You're_ done? How do you think I feel? Having you follow me around like a lost puppy since we were thirteen years old? You're pathetic, Mac. You think you're some sort of hero because you've finally admitted something I've known all my life? You're pathetic." 

He's too enraged to realise he's repeated himself, his jaw clenching in anger. Mac's mouth just twitches into a humourless smile; he can't hurt him now.

His hand goes to the door handle again and he twists it. He'll go. He'll leave and they probably won't see each other for a while. They won't talk about this either.

It'll be just like their time in the suburbs. When all that was said and done, Dennis had refused to remember how Mac snuck into his bed, brought together by a noisy pool pump and the chirp of a smoke detector low on batteries. For those few weeks, they weren't who they were, and as soon as they crossed back over the threshold at Paddy's, Dennis refused to acknowledge that anything had changed. 

It had shaken Mac. Though they hadn't drifted into sexual territory, the intimacy was obvious and he hadn't come to terms with his sexuality yet. He didn't know what the hell Dennis was doing.

Speaking of, he can feel present-Dennis suddenly behind him and when he opens the door, his hand slams down beside his head and shuts it again. 

The atmosphere blisters as Mac stills, his mind reeling. He can feel the heat of Dennis' body, the soft, ragged breathing in his ear. He sees the fingers of his hand slightly curl into the door, his knuckles turning white with barely restrained anger. 

Mac goes for the door again and is stunned when Dennis' other hand shoots out, grabbing it and pinning it beside his head. Now both arms cage him in and his heart begins to pound against his ribcage.

"Let me go." He says sharply and the subtext behind his words isn't lost on him. 

The only reply he receives is his name, muttered harshly against his neck. Dennis presses the entire length of his body against him and Mac feels every muscle, leaner than himself but just as strong. His heart leaps to his throat and his breath shallows when he feels an unmistakable bulge press against his lower back. 

He doesn't have time to react to it; Dennis is turning him around, his movements quick and angry. His hands go back to the door, caging him in again, but Mac's more frozen in place by his eyes. The irises seem to suddenly dilate from the brightest blue to the darkest ice, and he realises their mouths are almost touching. As he speaks, he feels them brush, feather light.

"What are you doing?"

Dennis' thoughts tangle and he has no hope of controlling them. 

So he doesn't try. His gaze simply flickers from Mac's eyes to his mouth and back again. His top lip seems to curl slightly and he releases a noise he doesn't recognise as coming from himself - and then his mouth crashes into his. 

He's kissed him several times during their teenage years, experimentally and as a way of proving his dominance, and Mac had almost forgotten what it's like. Like every atom in his body is simultaneously vibrating. He pulls back.

"No." He murmurs, swallowing heavily. He keeps his eyes shut, craning his head away. "I can't."

"You can." Dennis' reply is curt, irritated.

"It hurts." Mac says and he's not talking about the way Dennis' fingers are digging into his waist, tight enough to leave bruises. His voice shakes with conviction and the other man's eyes darken.

"I can fix that."

Mac wraps his hands around his wrists in a feeble attempt to push him off, but he gently entwines his fingers in his, lifting his arms above his head as he thrusts his hips, causing him to react mindlessly, to arch against him. His mind spins as Dennis nibbles on his neck, his lips smooth and his tongue unbearably talented. 

Insane, dizzying pleasure completely clouds his brain. He should be fighting this, should be walking away. He knows it's wrong, that he shouldn't let himself be consumed by him again, but he's powerless to stop it. 

Because it's _him -_  it's _Dennis_  - and he's all he's ever wanted.

When all else fails and waivers and rots, he will always remain his one true thing. 

Mac hears him groan, his erection painfully hard against his. Now he lets himself believe he wants him too. 

Dark blue eyes are so close to his and they drop to his lips again then flicker back to his eyes. Then, Dennis begins to lower his mouth to his. The anticipation of pleasure hums in Mac's veins and suddenly he's ravenous for him, to taste him, to consume him. It's so close to his darkest fantasies and there's no right or wrong; there simply  _is._

Dennis finally kisses him properly.

His mouth is hot and tastes like him; smoke and whiskey and something sweeter. His plump lower lip expertly nips and toys, sucking his lower lip between his, causing a breathless shudder. Mac feels him half smile and he moves closer, preparing to kiss deeper, to stop teasing. His hands cup his jaw and he slants his mouth, teeth scraping against his bottom lip. 

Mac's mouth opens and he gasps frantically for air, tasting only Dennis. He groans into him, sliding his velvet tongue against his. He isn't even aware that his own hands have slid under his shirt, feeling the smooth skin of his back, pushing him away and pulling him closer at the same time. 

Dennis thrusts against his open thighs, wildly frustrated, wanting to tear away the layers of fabric - to finally slide inside him, to have, take,  _feel._ He deepens the kiss, breathing through his nose, trying to decide what he tastes like. He's far from inexperienced but Mac's the only man he's ever kissed and it's something he's never tasted before. 

He tastes of every memory they've ever had; layered, rich, faint and strong, familiar and odd memories he can't properly place. He slows the kiss to a languid exploration, bewildered that anything can affect him so intensely. Images flicker behind his eyelids, his pulse pounding in his ears. 

His mouth moves to Mac's neck and he kisses the underside of his jaw, tasting smoke and stubble and maybe tears. 

"There wasn't one fucking day last year when I didn't think of you." Dennis whispers into his skin, unable to look at him. Regardless, his words slow everything down and when he lifts his face, he feels like he might as well have his ribcage gaping open. That would be less excruciating. 

He swallows, looking at the face he knows better than his own, and tries to decipher his eyes.

He has a collection of every expression Mac makes, but he's never seen this one before. It looks like he's seeing him for the first time, trying to recognise him. 

"If we do this... nothing will ever be the same." Mac warns him, his eyes glittering feverishly. He pauses, studying his face, noting the pink glow layering over his skin.

"I know."

"I won't go back to the way things were before."

"I know."

 _Future Dennis' problem,_ he thinks cruelly, selfishly. He won't worry about the repercussions now, even though Mac's asking him to. He's always wanted everything at once, never denied himself a thing. He won't start now. 

His pupils dilate to leave only a thin circle of piercing blue and Mac braces.

Everything moves faster then. The next kiss is bruising; all tongues, teeth, heat and passion, there's nothing gentle about this. Their shirts are pulled over their heads before they can blink, rough nails scratching electric paths down lean skin. 

Mac pushes off the wall, walking him backwards, knowing where to go without opening his eyes. They don't break away from each other's mouths as they each work their belts, hastily pulling them out of the loops. The simultaneous  _clinks_ as the buckles hit the floor are the only sound breaking the silence.

Two pairs of jeans tangle around their feet as they fall into Dennis' room and they kick them off easily. Falling onto the bed, Dennis braces himself on his elbows and Mac blazes beneath him. 

Dennis' lust is a spark, Mac's blood gasoline. 

Dennis changes the angle of the kiss, his tongue rough and hot silk, moving against his before retreating again. A flare of irritation lights in the dark recesses of Mac's mind; even now, he's fighting to control something that's never been his to control.

Mac tries to gain the upper hand, pushing against him.

"Stop trying to control this." Dennis' undertone is harsh and goosebumps rise on Mac's arms. "Stop, because it's mine to control."

Mac pushes on his chest like he's pushing open a door. Dennis' darkened blue eyes appraise his face with an expression he's never seen before; stark possession, an almost painful desolation. 

 _He looks like me,_ Mac thinks as his mouth is claimed again. 

"That's the funny thing..." Mac mutters as Dennis slides his hand through his hair to cradle his head as it grows heavy from pleasure. Each delicate press of his teeth to his neck makes him shudder and he pauses at the base, opening his mouth to suck deeply.

"All this time..." Mac keeps on track, even as his best friend rids them both of their underwear and trails hot kisses down his sculpted chest. As he moves down his body, Mac finally threads his fingers in the curls he's been dreaming about since he was a teenager, "...you think I've been yours, but you've been mine. You need me as much as I need you... and that terrifies you."

He sees Dennis' jaw clench but he doesn't say a word. He simply crawls back up and presses their bodies together. It's the most skin to skin contact they've ever had and the shock is as potent as a burn.

The air seems to thin as Mac looks at him and then slowly rolls over. He braces himself on his forearms, put on display in more ways than one. Dennis breathes through his nose, jaw set. 

He reaches for the small, ever-present bottle of lube in his nightstand and wordlessly slicks his finger, tracing Mac's hole. He slides it in, twisting softly.

Mac's breath hitches as he works slowly, in and out, adding a second finger and stroking the g spot he hadn't known existed. He makes an embarrassingly wanton sound and bites his lip to remind himself not to get any louder. 

His cock feels unbearably hot and heavy between his legs and his hand travels down, pumping it in time with the thrusts of Dennis' fingers. 

Soon, the fingers are gone and he wants to whine at the emptiness. But then he's gasping as Dennis' cock presses against him, the heat and wet inviting him in. Dennis' nostrils flare but he only pushes in slightly, giving him time to adjust, and Mac's eyelids flutter close with a feeling akin to worship.

Dennis pushes in slowly, closing his eyes, desperate for distraction to stop him from thrusting hard, reaching unseeing for his hands, linking his fingers with his. It's so incredibly tight, he feels like a virgin again. In some ways, he is. This is different from anything that's ever come before. 

The soft groans Mac's making under him encourage him to thrust lazily, each one knocking the breath from the other man's lungs. He grabs his waist and slams hard into him once, revelling in the desperate moan it invokes. He eases back, each deliberate thrust a beautiful torment. 

His movements become erratic, sharp, like he wants to tear Mac apart from the inside out. He wants to defile him, ruin him, use him to rip a hole in his own flesh so the light can seep in. He doesn't understand why Mac gets to feel so much, while he feels nothing at all. He's sick of being a twisted sociopath, incapable of emotion, while Mac is praised as the most sensitive.

Mainly, he's tired of feeling empty so he wants Mac to lift him up from the inside.

For Mac, it's everything he's ever wanted. How many times has he dreamt of this? If he's honest with himself, he knows - even back then - he came up with his own M.A.C system, pathetically gathering Dennis' scraps, just so he could feel the ghost of him, still lingering in those girls. One hand curls the sheets into a fist as the other furiously pumps his cock.

Dennis fucks like he fights; angry, smooth, self-assured. He plays him like an instrument he mastered years ago. Mac feels himself approaching the edge first, his eyes widening as he realises he's going to come. 

The tightening pleasure turns into smaller and smaller spirals and he thinks he can hear Dennis saying something as the unbearable friction becomes too much and volcanic pleasure blasts through him.

It eclipses anything he ever thought was pleasure in the past and as he spills hot and heavy and wet in his hand, he feels Dennis' body shake behind him. 

A lifetime of internalized hatred and confusion and lust blasts through Dennis like a storm, a death, a bomb. Lightning strikes and everything flashes white. For a moment, he sees nothing; nothing but the man with him, a man who has shown him the best and worst of a world that's never loved him.

He spills everything into him. All the pain and anger, the tears he can never bring himself to cry and all the darkness he's harboured for so many years... he gives to Mac. He wants him to take it, to heal him, he's the only one who can. 

When it's all said and done, their sweaty bodies tangling together, neither can tell where one ends and another begins.

It won't fix everything, not even close.

But for now, it's enough. 


End file.
